


So cold thy hand

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Established Relationship, M/M, Murder Husbands, Music, OdeToMurder, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sexual Content, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: A Tango orchestra awakens longings and memories, leading to the next step in the journey of our favorite murder husbands :)





	So cold thy hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJa/gifts).



> (( I hope you like it dear!!! It didn't quite go into the direction you originally hinted at, but then my stories rarely do (I swear they have a life of their own) - I hope you like, JoJa!))

The music draws me in.  
It is so different from the soothing but hauntingly familiar pieces of classical music that Hannibal keeps putting on. So different to the hectic, rushed and oftentimes… shallow pop music that brushes up to me when I go out for groceries, daily at Hannibal’s insistence.  
Something in the music is mourning, the scar in my cheek throbbing sharply with the emotion it elicits, unnamed but fathomless deep and I stand there, yearning. For what I cannot even say, but the pull is undeniable, irrefutable. Of course I know what kind of music it is but this… this emotional response is vastly different to when we discussed the music in school. To when I listened to it the last time. The little three-days-event in the park has only started, the practicing musicians drawing me, irresistibly, with the first pull of the Bandoneon. I hover at the edge of the clearing, watching the hustling movements, colorful tents promising to offer wine and finger food surrounding the center stage, slightly elevated in the middle, with a small area to the right shielded off for the Orquesta típica, the rest of the audience area open, no chairs in sight.  
“Will you come tonight?”  
The question startles me, and I feel a vague sense of nausea of being snuck up to, something that could likely prove fatal after all. I swallow and then turn my head, the man next to me watching me with a small smile, his hand loosely clasped around the straps of a large guitar case. I shrug slightly, smiling lopsidedly, the scar in my cheek pulling, still, all my scars hidden by makeup. The phantom touch of Hannibal, rubbing in a lotion to soothe the aching nerves travels down my spine. The man extends his hand and I shake it, the grip firm but cool, laughing at my silence. “Antonio de Laguiera. Well, if you like the practice already, I figured you are meant to be here.”  
My smile transforms into a grin, my mood softening with it, once more shrugging before I answer. “Sam. I don’t know yet. I’m not sure what our plans are yet.” Antonio tilts his head, regarding me for a moment and then he smiles mischievously, stepping back. “See you tonight, Sam!”  
I snort and then watch him leave, waiting leaned against a tree until the pearly pulls of his guitar’s strings join the Bandoneon, my hands aching where I try not to hold onto the fruit too tightly. 

 

Hannibal’s hands brush mine when he takes the groceries from me, his smile shivering through me. As usual, it is something between lewd and intimate these days, his eyes promising things his fingers fulfill in the evenings, leaving me breathless and shivering, raw for more. It’s never enough, this, the intimacy between us now, enhanced into the physical, the transition way more easily done than it had any right to be, instinctual and pure. And immediate, the need to touch preceding the need for food even, bodies still held by stitches, fused in blood and sweat and stale breath.  
I reach up and pull him down for a biting kiss, the paper bag between us falling to the ground where Hannibal drops it unceremoniously, another thing that has changed, priorities rearranged. I know he will needle me endlessly about the bruised fruit later, but for now it is more important to press him against the counter, purely vital to feel his skin, my hands finding the bullet scar instinctually, pressing until he moans into my mouth, the sound as broken as the one that I rip from him when I take him, his teeth locked into the meat of my left hand. 

 

“Do you like Tango?” I try to say it casually but fail miserably, at least judging by the way Hannibal’s eyes crinkle, still stroking my hair, there on the cold tiles of our kitchen. At least we’ll be able to clean up the mess easily this time.  
He inhales, slowly, pushing forward to nuzzle at my jaw. “I was not aware that you liked it, Will.”  
I shrug, my fingers pulling at the crinkles of his shirt, another one ruined. “I wasn’t aware either. Not really.” I stretch my back a bit, arching into him, surrounded by the smell of ‘us’. I swallow, frowning for a moment. “Can we go?”  
It is a loaded question, somehow, meaning so much. We have been laying low for months, caught up in each other, hiding in this house, Hannibal almost never leaving it. Going out is always a risk and this, this request, is me asking to throw caution into the wind, to risk this for… for what exactly? I swallow again, shaking my head in his grip, almost immediately. “Forget it.” I hesitate, locking eyes with him. “It would be careless.”  
Hannibal shifts a bit, one hand dropping to the small of my back, pulling me in. We touch on every breath now, jolt of electricity, our breaths syncing up. His voice is grave. “Yes. It would be.”  
I nod, forcing the ball of irrational disappointment down, somewhat angry at myself. I literally flung myself into Death’s arms to win this life, it really shouldn’t be so tempting to throw it into the wind for … I come up blank, mulling over the unnamed emotion I can feel so keenly, the need that tugs at me.  
Hannibal presses a kiss to the soft skin below my jaw, his breath tickling, his words almost inaudible. “Thank you though, Will.”  
I frown, deeply, blinking, the words striking the right chord with me and yet I cannot put words to it, cannot name what I want. Trust Hannibal to know. I push back slowly and smile apologetically, reaching for his hand to pull us both up, Hannibal following me into the shower. His fingers press gently when they shampoo my hair and the need slowly fades away, physical hunger replacing it. He doesn’t needle me about the fruit that day after all.

 

The Bandoneon is already in sync with the piano the next day, fragments of music drifting over. A few bars and then repeat, something tugging at my memory, I have heard this before. Somewhere. There is a strange Parisian vibe to it, the low key beat driving the Tango far beyond expectation. I linger in the shadows, knowing Hannibal is waiting and yet unable to tear myself away, something staying my feet. Antonio is off to the side, quietly tuning his guitar, while a dark-haired woman slowly moves to the tact, drinking some tea. They exchange quiet words and a chuckle when the music pauses and I strain my ears, trying to hear, in vain. I hesitate and then decide against better judgement, picking up the bags, walking over quietly. Antonio recognizes me immediately, waving.  
He skids over and grips my shoulder, shaking me just slightly, the motion rattling through me. “Sam! We missed you last night! Why didn’t you come?”  
It’s said lightly and yet I am hard pressed for an answer, opting to smile apologetically, though what I actually feel I need apologizing for I do not quite know. He clicks his tongue at me and shakes his head, pushing me forward by the hand on my shoulder, a move that is at once terribly addictive and yet overly familiar, my body at once repulsed and intrigued by someone else’s touch.  
“Alicia, this is Sam, he was fascinated by Pedro’s music yesterday.” Antonio pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Why don’t we try the new song for him?”  
I interrupt, feeling uncomfortably on spot somehow, the back of my neck tingling. “No, please, I did not mean to break your practice routine, it’s just that…” I hesitate, inclining my head to the right and back slightly, knowing that Hannibal will easily be able to interpret it as the acknowledgement to his presence. I sigh, turning my head back to Antonio, shrugging lightly. “I have heard this song before. I can’t remember when or where, but…”  
Alicia chimes in, her voice melodic and deeper than anticipated, words quiet but strong. “Oh yes, this is ‘I’ve seen that face before’ by Grace Jones and Astor Piazzola. It is a few decades old now and quite popular, but it is new in our repertoire.” She smiles and Antonio drops his hand, and I feel bereft and yet relieved, my body relaxing in increments.  
The tingling in the back of my neck fades and I exhale, wondering what we will discuss later and then I push the thought aside, my world narrowing down to the here and now, the music encompassing me, effortlessly, tugging at me. Alicia begins to sing, her voice haunting, terribly on point, taking my breath. 

Strange, I’ve seen that face before,  
Seen him hanging ‘round my door,  
Like a hawk stealing for the prey,  
Like the night waiting for the day,

Strange, he shadows me back home,  
Footsteps echo on the stones,  
Rainy nights, on Hausmann Boulevard,  
Parisian music, drifting from the bars,

Tu cherches quoi, rencontrer la mort,  
Tu te prends pour qui, toi aussi tu detestes la vie,

 _(What are you looking for, to meet death? You made yourself ready for him, as you also hate life.)_  
  
I gasp, trying to calm my galloping heart, memories of New Orleans rising, of seedy night clubs and red light establishments, of high class dance halls and drugs. Of perfectly manicured nails, running down the powder-blue shirt of my uniform. Sweet perfume and bitter aftershave, heavy in the air. Laughter and writhing bodies. There. I had heard that song before there. Of course. I lick my lips, trying to shake the trepidation, unable to do anything else than stare at Alicia, transfixed.

Dance in bars and restaurants,  
Home with anyone who wants,  
Strange he’s standing there alone,  
Staring eyes chill me to the bone

Dans sa chambre, Joel et sa valise,  
un regard sur ses fringues,  
Sur les murs, des photos,  
Sans regret, sans mélo,  
La porte est claquée, Joel est barré   
  
_(In his room, Joel looks through his meager belongings in his suitcase,_  
_at the wall with his photos - without regret, without melodrama/ado._                  
_The door has been closed, Joel is captured.)_

  


Je suis barré.  
I turn, my feet turning towards our home without hesitation, hands holding onto the vegetable bags, white-knuckled. The music fades behind me, slowly, like a dream. Antonio calls to me. “Come by tonight, Sam! It will be a fabulous night!”  
I do not dare to look back. 

 

I enter our home, or, better, the home we made for ourselves, here, in this little town, after making sure I wasn’t followed. It is quiet, the kitchen dark. I put the groceries onto the counter, refusing to let my hands shake. Hannibal’s voice is a whisper, from the dark of the dining room. “Tu n'es pas barré, Will.”  
I pull a face, close to a snarl, my answering whisper harsh. “Oh, am I not?”  
A rustling of cloth as Hannibal stands up, stepping up to me in measured steps, tightly controlled. As not to spook the skittish animal. I work my jaw, swallowing harshly. Hannibal’s hand comes up, his finger under my chin, burning my skin. I raise my eyes, slowly, defiantly, blue burning red. Hannibal tilts his head and once more I am struck with the slightly reptile likeliness of the movement, barely veiled inhumanness, the low light making his features stand out starkly. He pushes close and for a moment I cannot feel his breath accompanying his words, the shadows behind him morphing into something sharp. His words burn. “You do not hate life, Will.”  
I sink to my knees, slowly, my legs unable to hold me up suddenly, his finger under my chin never moving, in sync as always. I whisper, the words coming by themselves, relieved to be able to speak it, this, this so important to me. “I made myself ready for you, though.”  
There is a pause and Hannibal brushes his lips over mine, nipping lightly. “Am I death to you?”  
I open my mouth and receive him, wet heat curling through me, sighing when we part. I keep my eyes closed, my mouth twitching into a smile. “You are Death.” I don’t elaborate, don’t explain, knowing he will understand the distinction, a chuckle breaking free when his words confirm it.  
“As long as you do not expect me to speak in capital letters…”  
Another deep kiss and I sigh into it, my hands coming up to pull him closer, silvery hair between my hands. Borrowed time, one way or another, mythical or not.  
_Sans regret._ I almost manage to convince myself.

 

I stay away from the little park when I go into town the next morning, returning to our home right away. He is sketching in his study, something and I know that it sometimes takes up whole days, leaving me to do as I wish. Which is usually just fine with me. Not today though. Today, I hate him for it.  
As dusk falls I cave, dressing in suit pants and a dress shirt, combing my hair out. My hand hovers over the makeup, applying it a familiar notion by now. But not today. I don’t look back when I leave the house, keeping my eyes on the cobblestones, glad the streets are sparsely lit.  
I inhale and it is as if I can for the first time, a weight I was not aware I carried dropping away. When I pass some teenagers they giggle and hide their faces and I smile, shaking my head. I buy a beer at the kiosk, turning towards the park.

 

The space between the tents is packed, people squeezing in and between them, laughter interrupted by words. There is no music as I arrive there, the musicians apparently taking a break and I hover in the shadow of a tent, vibrating with energy. I look up when Antonio and the others come back to the little fenced off area. Alicia takes the stage, and I will them to see me, will them to know I’m there but of course they do not, focused solely on their instruments. I start when three couples step up onto the stage, the first notes of the Tango reaching me, their dance movements immediately riveting and hypnotic. I realize there’s more men dancing and I suddenly remember that Tango was invented as a dance for two men, adapted only later on. My throat is dry. I blink rapidly, the as of yet unnamed feeling coming to the fore again, shivering through me. Hannibal steps up to me, one hand coming up to my waist, his other gripping my left hand fingers, gently, skin whispering over skin.  
“Your hand is so cold, mylimasis.”  
I swallow, my right hand coming up to hold his right to me, leaning back against him a bit. I don’t know how to put what I feel in words so I borrow them. “I am Joel.”  
Hannibal hums, entwining our fingers, his nose in the hair at my nape. People step by us, never more than glancing, noise hushed a bit now that the music is playing. “I will always shadow you back home, yes.” He presses a kiss to my neck and then bites the skin there, drawing blood, hidden beneath the curls. “Though I will not let you go home with anyone who wants, I admit.”  
A small smile steals across my face, the copper smell mixing intoxicatingly with his aftershave. He licks at the wound and I sigh, watching the men on the stage move, bodies entwined passionately. Hannibal pushes his hands and therefore mine forward, putting them onto my belly, pulling me back against him even more. He starts to sway, the Tango close to its finish now, the french words echoed by parts of the crowd, Alicia’s voice easily carrying beyond the chorus of voices. Hannibal presses his lips to the shell of my ear, his hands dropping down, just a bit. “Do you still feel trapped, Will?”  
I sigh, mouthing the last words of the Tango and then I release our clasped hands, turning in the circle of his arms, applause branding up to us. I search his eyes, trying to convey the feelings I do not fully grasp myself, my words coming haltingly, picking up his interpretation. “I am trapped in the picture you paint of us.”  
Hannibal tilts his head, his eyes dark red flames in the lights from the lanterns. “You want to show the world.”  
I raise my arms, pushing them up until I can embrace him over his shoulders, pulling a bit to even our height difference. “I need them to see us.” I lick my lips, hesitating, allowing myself to release the tight hold on my darkness for a moment. “This was so hard won, Hannibal, this life we lead here. And yet… I yearn for more.” I hesitate again, watching Hannibal’s pupils dilate rapidly. I smile, sharply, watch the helpless smile that twitches across Hannibal’s lips. “I need to be myself. With you.” I swallow, pulling him closer. “I chose death with you over life, Hannibal, and then life with Death for my life…“ I press a kiss to his lips, whispering the words against them. “I am captured in it, not trapped.”  
He moves just a bit, pressing kisses to my eyes, making me laugh softly. His words are gently, repeating. “Thank you, Will.” I tilt my head, raising my eyebrows in a silent inquiry, falling into the sway of the new Tango that is starting up. Hannibal grins at me, sharply and then bends a bit down, pulling my leg up his own, tilting us slightly. “Thank you for wanting to roam, freely.” He lets go and then bends with me, just a bit, emulating the dancers on the stage, the air between us charging. I move my hips, grin at him when the angles catch, making us both sigh. Someone catcalls us and I reach up and kiss Hannibal, just as he pushes a step forward, pulling me back right after, ignoring them. Hannibal breaks the kiss, breathing somewhat heavily, eyes dark. “I have packed our belongings. If we do not return tonight they will be forwarded automatically tomorrow morning.”  
I moan, moving against the leg that is in-between mine now, gasping when Hannibal whirls us around. My eyes find the stage and the orchestra, locking eyes with Antonio, staring over to us. I sigh, letting myself fall back a bit, my body coiling within Hannibal’s grip, his eyes snapping up to mine. I keep my eyes on Antonio’s, my words cutting the air between us. “We have been recognized.” I let the antlers grow, feel the shadows beg, the claws at my back scratching softly. I tilt my head. “This is a trap, isn’t it. That’s why he kept engaging me… to draw you out.”  
I should be furious, mad, insulted and wounded, but all I feel is elation, echoed in dark, menacing waves by the thing before me, the shell of a man ripping apart in my arms as the beast breaks free, for all the world to see. I offer my mouth to the beast and receive the kiss of steel in my hand in return, my mind picking up the rhythm for our movements, timed perfectly, just as the safeties click.

 

The sun rises behind us and we stumble on, bloody and bruised. The light brushes my face and I know my scars glint silvery, matching the highlights in Hannibal’s hair. I take his hand, icy cold and scorching hot, looking back over my shoulder for a possible car to hijack but there is none coming by right now. The wind whips my hair around and almost takes the words from my mouth. “What did you sketch yesterday?”  
Hannibal squeezes my hand, moving me around himself suddenly by pulling me into an impromptu dance step before releasing me again, grinning wolfishly. “I drew us, dancing, mylimasis. As a gift for Jack. A photo for his wall, if you will.”  
I sigh, grinning, rolling my shoulders, looking up into the sky. “I wish to go where we can dance this dance.” I do not define which dance I mean, knowing he knows.  
His thumb brushes my bloody knuckles, raising my hand up to breathe a kiss to them. “Wherever you wish, mylimasis.”

**Author's Note:**

> _______________
> 
>  
> 
> Comments/Feedback are hugely appreciated!!! <3  
> (But in any case I hope you liked! :))
> 
> Video to the Tango: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIN3IE3DHqc


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